


Synesthesia

by Shazrolane



Series: Art as Therapy (formerly Art Therapy) [3]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Art, Gen, M/M, Read this as gen or slash, almost literally, art as therapy, but there's some Hope, it's up to you, one step forward and two steps back, still not a happy and fluffy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1999086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazrolane/pseuds/Shazrolane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope is a tiny speck of white, surrounded by a bigger area of blue. The outside of the paper is red hurt and orange anger and grey confusion and black forgetting. He curls the sides of the paper under so the hope shows the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synesthesia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [refusals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/refusals/gifts), [thekumquat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekumquat/gifts).



> Gifted to thekumquat, whose bookmark inspired the title, and to refusals, whose fic Lilies With Full Hands just gives me FEEEEEEEEELS. I'm cosplaying TWS at my next con and I'm going to put an amethyst worry stone in the costume because of you!
> 
> BIG thanks to zanthalinn for catching my misspelling. Of the TITLE, for pity's sake.

Hope is a tiny speck of white, surrounded by a bigger area of blue. The outside of the paper is red hurt and orange anger and grey confusion and black forgetting. He curls the sides of the paper under so the hope shows the most.

 _Steve_ smiles at him, but his eyes are leaking. That means he is sad. The Soldier doesn’t like that. He stays close to the clear wall until it is time for _Steve_ to go.

He looks at Hope as he eats his rations _dinner_ that night. Hope is a scary thing. Hope is too big. Hope makes him think he might remember enough to be useful again to _Steve_ , so that he would be allowed out of storage. (Hope makes him think he might be a person again.)

Hope is too big. He pushes Hope under the door, out into the world where it belongs.

When _Steve_ comes the next day, _Steve_ starts to push Hope back into the room. The Soldier shakes his head No and pushes back, forces the paper out of his room.

Then he realizes what he’s done and kneels. He closes his eyes because he doesn’t want to see _Steve_ punish him. If he can keep his eyes closed, he will not see it and he can keep a picture in his mind of _Steve_ that does not hurt.

He doesn’t know when _Steve_ leaves. Eventually he hears dinner arriving. There is another slice of pie, still warm. He takes the pie to the corner where he feels less exposed (is that what safe is?) and eats it. He knows he should eat the food quickly (don’t waste their time) but he can’t help savoring the pie, just a bit.

Delicious is his favorite color.

 _Steve_ comes back the next day. He picks up Hope from where it sat all night long and begins to tape it to the clear wall. The Soldier _your name is_ tries to hide his flinch, but _Steve_ sees it. He moves Hope to the far wall, where it’s still visible but not so close.

The Soldier (who doesn’t have a name) sits down across from Hope. With a wall and distance between him and Hope, it doesn’t push on him so much. It doesn’t make him uncomfortable (not as much).

 _Steve_ draws while he stares. At the end, he tapes up a picture on his side of the wall. It shows the brown haired man, standing over a small blond man. Three others are standing aggressively, but the brown haired man is stopping them. Underneath, he wrote You kept me safe. I will never hurt you.

The Soldier is silent. The Soldier is compliant. The Soldier is not stupid, no matter what the handlers and technicians and operatives think and say.

He needs to find out what _I will never hurt you_ means.

He draws, but he does not give it to _Steve_. _Steve_ looks pleased.

He draws, but he does not show it to Steve, pushes it under his mattress instead. Steve smiles at him.

He rips up the paper. Steve looks confused, but not angry.

He plans to...he plans to do something big. A rebellion. It takes him many days to decide that it must be done. He doesn’t want to, but he must know.

He breaks every crayon and throws them at the wall. Steve sits patiently.

That night, the Soldier _you don’t have a name_ uses the broken pieces of the crayons to draw all over the floor and walls, scribbles that turn into colors that turn into fear and anger and delicious and not punished and sad and shame and loss. By the morning, all of the crayons are gone, worn down to nubs and crumbs like he is. The Soldier _don’t hope for a name hope is too big_ goes to the corner and hides his face and cries at the loss of the crayons and waits for hurt.

When Steve arrives he laughs but he smiles when he does it. This confuses the Soldier _you don’t have a name_. Steve’s picture this day is of the brown haired man with a tilted smile, holding up a fist. But the fist has one finger extended. Underneath is written You tell ‘em, Bucky.

The fist is not efficient. The Soldier _stop hoping for a name_ does not understand.

He is not punished.

He is fed.

He is allowed to sleep.

Steve comes back. He brings new crayons, one box for the Soldier _hoping for a name_ and one for himself. Steve spends the day’s time writing on many sheets of paper. Before he leaves, he tapes them along the bottom of the clear wall. They stretch almost from wall to wall. Each one says the same thing. I will never hurt you.

The Soldier _hoping for a name_ cannot think of any more ways to provoke hurt.

He must be more brave.

He draws a memory, a woman in a blue dress. He shows it to Steve, his heart pounding and his breath coming too fast. Steve puts his hand on the clear wall close to the picture, tears in his eyes but a smile on his lips. He writes Your mom Winnifred (we called her Winny).

No one takes the paper. No one takes the memory.

The Soldier _your name is_ draws more memories and puts them on the wall next to his mattress, so he can look at them and trace them in the night. One day he does this while Steve is there.

No one takes his memories.

Even though the paper stays on the wall opposite from the clear wall, Hope moves back into his chest.

He has a mother.

If he has a mother, perhaps he has a name. _your name is James Buchanan Barnes_

He draws name. He writes it on the walls, in every language he knows. Name. имя. Nombre. 名字 Nom. NAME.

He spends the day staring at it.

The next day, instead of drawing, he writes Who is James Buchanan Barnes?

Steve answers He is my best friend.

The Soldier _your name is James Buchanan Barnes_ asks Who is the Winter Soldier?

Steve looks away before answering He is who they forced my friend to be. But he is not who my friend is.

The Soldier _your name is James Buchanan Barnes_ draws ice. He draws killing. He draws forgetting. He draws punished. He asks for tape and puts them on the far wall, away from Steve. He tapes them so the image faces the wall, not himself. Not Steve.

The Soldier _James Buchanan Barnes_ writes I don’t want to kill people.

He writes I am James.

The next day, the door opens.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://shazrolane.tumblr.com/)


End file.
